Joints were weaker spots in the armor, the armor was weaker than usual, and this Harley seemed strong enough to be superhuman, given how she kept wielding that sledgehammer. That meant the armor cracked under the pressure. Blue blood started running down the back of his leg.
Now that was pain. The only time he'd felt more pain was when he'd been tortured by Max Lord and that had been general electric agony all over. This was a different kind of pain, one that screamed a warning in the back of his head to remind him that this pain meant something was actually broken and that he'd have trouble fighting or running away.
So he screamed. And he cried, tears pouring down his face. And he cursed in a mix of English and Spanish, saying things he'd never say around his mother. He was pretty sure she'd forgive him for it just this once.
The scarab trilled that it was working on something but Jaime knew he didn't have much longer before he'd be too injured to fight back or escape, especially if she was going for all the joints she'd marked. He had to find his opening and then run to buy the scarab more time.
Stop. Panicking. Fight the fear, tune out the pain. You're thinking like a scared kid - albeit one with really, really good reason to be scared - but you need to start thinking like a Blue Beetle. You've been hurt like this before and powerless like this before and you got through. C'mon, think back to Mr. Kord's notes. What was it one of his notes said? 'If you have nothing to work with make the enemy work for you.' What do I need right now? What can I do or say to make her give it to me?
Mobility was the most important thing. If he could move, he could run or fight.
Run. Preferably run.
He'd broken the drill since she seemed to have no other drill bits and the hammer would bludgeon him but not get the armor off. Judging from the other implements available, that left very few that she could use to try to get him free of the armor.
One that potentially could was the chainsaw. The chainsaw that could also cut through his leg bonds if he caught it at the right angle. If he could get her to pick it up and kicked it the right way...
"What you're doing is no worse than paper cuts. Just flesh wounds."
Channeled some Monty Python there...
"You can pick at it all you want but you won't get through the armor," he challenged her. "Not all the way. You may as well give up. Nothing you have can cut through it."
Please take the bait, please take the bait, siendo Dios servido, let this be a gullible bad guy, let me have this one...
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Now that was pain. The only time he'd felt more pain was when he'd been tortured by Max Lord and that had been general electric agony all over. This was a different kind of pain, one that screamed a warning in the back of his head to remind him that this pain meant something was actually broken and that he'd have trouble fighting or running away.
So he screamed. And he cried, tears pouring down his face. And he cursed in a mix of English and Spanish, saying things he'd never say around his mother. He was pretty sure she'd forgive him for it just this once.
The scarab trilled that it was working on something but Jaime knew he didn't have much longer before he'd be too injured to fight back or escape, especially if she was going for all the joints she'd marked. He had to find his opening and then run to buy the scarab more time.
Stop. Panicking. Fight the fear, tune out the pain. You're thinking like a scared kid - albeit one with really, really good reason to be scared - but you need to start thinking like a Blue Beetle. You've been hurt like this before and powerless like this before and you got through. C'mon, think back to Mr. Kord's notes. What was it one of his notes said? 'If you have nothing to work with make the enemy work for you.' What do I need right now? What can I do or say to make her give it to me?
Mobility was the most important thing. If he could move, he could run or fight.
Run. Preferably run.
He'd broken the drill since she seemed to have no other drill bits and the hammer would bludgeon him but not get the armor off. Judging from the other implements available, that left very few that she could use to try to get him free of the armor.
One that potentially could was the chainsaw. The chainsaw that could also cut through his leg bonds if he caught it at the right angle. If he could get her to pick it up and kicked it the right way...
"What you're doing is no worse than paper cuts. Just flesh wounds."
Channeled some Monty Python there...
"You can pick at it all you want but you won't get through the armor," he challenged her. "Not all the way. You may as well give up. Nothing you have can cut through it."
Please take the bait, please take the bait, siendo Dios servido, let this be a gullible bad guy, let me have this one...